


Heal Me, Hurt Me

by nunyabizniz



Series: HBO SPN [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Healing, Grace - Freeform, If Supernatural (TV) Were on HBO, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sam Winchester (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nunyabizniz/pseuds/nunyabizniz
Summary: So the show ended and I haven't seen it in years. Buuuut people keep posting these incredibly sexy hbo spn concepts that got me into rewatching the first couple seasons and this ended up happening.Set when Sam and Dean are separated in season 5. Dean is desperate to be healed by Cas because he never learned how to ask for comfort.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: HBO SPN [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041972
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	Heal Me, Hurt Me

“Dean,” Steady hands grip his chin drawing his gaze upwards, “you have to stop this.”

Sitting on the edge of a lumpy motel bed with Cas towering over him, Dean grinned. A flash of bloodstained teeth through split pink lips. 

“And what? Miss out on our quality time?” If Cas knew anything about expressions Dean guessed he might look concerned. Instead he stared down at Dean, eyes squinted, head tilted.

Right hand still cupping his face firmly Cas raised his left and brought it to Dean’s forehead.

A cool presence swept through him, diluted his blood, his skin, his soul. It was like no high Dean had ever chased. Not crackling and erratic like adrenaline after a hunt, not hot and numbing like booze. Not even acid came close. He felt all of it, he understood none of it. Eyes closed, reverent, cool and calm for once, he let out a long shaky exhale. Felt his ribs slotting back into place, the cuts and scrapes he’d collected closing. Flesh knitting into flesh.

It hurt, it itched, it soothed something deep and roiling in the pit of his stomach. It was too much and it was over too quickly. Cas was pulling his hands away, his grace was fading, Dean could feel it slipping until he was the only thing inside his skin. And he knew as soon as it was gone he would be left wanting it, scrambling for another way to make Cas touch him like that again.

It scared him sometimes, when he was alone, what he would do to feel Cas’ grace. To be healed by him. At first it wasn’t intentional but passive, not letting Sam stitch the claw marks on his arms, not icing the bruises riddling his body. Just waiting, wounded, for Cas to appear as he always did, in a confusing blur that Dean could never clearly recall even when it happened before his eyes.

But now it was on purpose, like a need, a ritual. On almost every hunt he walked away battered. He would taunt a ghost, get himself thrown across a room. Let a monster’s jaws sink deeper into him than he ever had before. There was no Sam to insist he get patched up now. So he could sit in peace, oozing blood and wheezing, praying to Cas.

And he would come, he would always come. Frowning, demanding explanations but ultimately giving Dean what he needed.

Before Cas’ hand was fully withdrawn and hanging at his side Dean’s shot out. Gripping the tattered grimy sleeve of his trenchcoat. He couldn’t wait til his next hunt, couldn’t wait for another flimsy excuse when Cas could see right through them anyways. But he couldn’t make himself say it either.

“Dean.” His voice wasn’t soft, wasn’t soothing, he didn’t know how to act that out in a body yet. “This is dangerous for you.”

And he couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. What did he ever do that wasn’t dangerous for him?

“And?” His voice was tight with restraint, he flexed the hand still gripping Cas’ sleeve.

“And I don’t like it.” The angel spoke firmly. “I don’t like to see you hurt it’s -” His frown deepened, looking down to where Dean’s hand shook against worn fabric. “It makes me feel -” 

Was there a word for what he felt? He knew all human language but to an angel the terms for emotion felt encoded in something untranslatable. But what he’s feeling, it must be human right? Because he feels it in conjunction with Dean, the most infectiously human being he’d ever witnessed.

“Look we don’t have to talk about it okay.” Dean ground out. He was leaning forward, almost imperceptibly to himself, but Cas could see his soul reaching out from within him. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I just -” His grip went slack and his arm fell to his side with a rustling of fabric.

“I will always heal you Dean.” The conviction in his voice had Dean meeting his gaze again, something was swimming beneath his eyes that Cas couldn’t decode. But his soul was full of want, as it had been when he first made contact with it. “But I don’t like to see that something has hurt you, I don’t like not being there.”

“I’ve been hurt before Cas.” Dean explained as if Cas didn't know, he couldn’t even remember clearly when his first real injury had been. Had to be early though. “I can take it.”

“I’m aware of that.” He huffed, exasperated that Dean wasn't getting it.

“Then you know I don’t need you watching over me.” He leaned forward further til he was practically hunched over, face inches from Castiel’s body. “I need...I need this.”

It was the closest thing to the truth he could force out and he was met with a silence that felt too familiar. He kept his eyes open to be sure Cas hadn’t disappeared, but stared at the floor. Cas’ shoes, or his vessel’s shoes more like, were wearing thin. It had passed through Dean’s mind more than once that they ought to find him some new clothes, if only so he could remain inconspicuous. Wouldn't even be too hard to get some for free, just mojo into the nearest Walmart and mojo back out. Simple, quick, easy.

With his mind wandering into matters of practicality Dean didn’t notice Cas’ arm move in his peripheral until his hand was resting heavy against the back of his skull. Chills broke out where the angel’s fingertips brushed against his skin. But he was not swept away by holiness. He was still just a soul woven into a meat suit, alone.

Something akin to frustration welled up inside him, he felt like crying, throwing a fit. Why wouldn't he just do it, just give it to him, let him have what he needs. Is this what Sam felt with the blood? No, Sam found no peace in the blood, only power. This was something different, it scratched a different itch.

“Cas.” He breathed, quiet enough that no human would hear it. His mouth opened as if more words would come out but none did. The hand in his hair was moving, thumb stroking the base of his hairline. When had Cas learned to touch so humanely.

Please, he wanted to say. Please, please, please. But he didn’t, couldn’t. He leaned forward, forehead resting against the solid body in front of him that belonged to two strangers at once. Momentarily he envied Cas’ vessel, for all that he had sacrificed he would never be alone in his own skin again.

Without removing his hand from Dean’s head Cas pulled away and crouched to meet the human’s gaze. He wasn’t frowning, or tilting his head in that questioning way that Dean found endlessly ridiculous and endearing. But he was still studying.

“There is nothing more I can heal Dean.” His head tilted forward as he spoke as if willing Dean to understand his meaning.

The frustration Dean felt doubled, tripled, mixed with a dozen other nameless ugly things and he laughed in Cas’ face. It was hysterical, and ugly, it reminded him of Sam when he was manic and blood thirsty, literally. “So that’s it? My body has to need it? I can do that.”

And his hand was flying to his belt where he kept his knives but before it even reached them two warm fingers were pressed against his forehead and the cool presence was followed by a swift dreamless sleep. His body slumped forward, supported by Cas’ shoulders. Without much decorum the angel lifted him as farmhand might lift a sheep and laid him flat atop the motel bed.

He didn’t remove his boots, or belt, didn’t shut out the lights or throw a blanket over him. It simply didn’t occur to the sleepless being. He looked over Dean’s body, perfectly lax and healthy. Even his lungs were fresh, he always made a point to heal them along with his usual injuries.

His mind and body would be still with how deeply Cas had put him under, but his soul seethed. It paced his body like a caged beast, hungry and restless and above all lonely. Even angels could recognize loneliness.


End file.
